


Who Let The Wolf Out?

by CannibalHecter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Scenting, Somnophilia, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibalHecter/pseuds/CannibalHecter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alphas are on the move, and Derek doesn't feel safe having the human members of their group spread out so he sends his wolves out to collect them. Peter is in charge of getting Stiles, but of course he does more than just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleep Tight, Don't Let the Wolfies Bite

**Author's Note:**

> Put this over on ff.net, thought I would post it here too because I love it so much. I just don't think there's enough of this ship, probably because it's morally wrong but whatevs.

Stiles awoke shivering beneath the thin sheet that was between him and the crisp night. It had been unbearably humid when he went to sleep, the smell of rain in the air, but that seemed to have passed. Now it was just cold, and the window was open, allowing soft, chilly breezes to stir the curtains.

His sleepy brain took a few moments to register the problem at hand. The fog lifted enough from his mind to remember that there had been a box fan in his window, and there was no longer. Had there been a storm, maybe, and it had fallen?

He sat up, and the fatigue that overcame him convinced him to leave the fan wherever it was 'til morning. In the dark he leaned down to the foot of the bed, reaching for the covers he had kicked off. They must have ended up on the floor, because he didn't find them.

With a sigh, Stiles crawled all the way to the bottom of the bed and reached down to retrieve his blankets. They weren't there. But now that he was eye-level with the floor, and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see that his fan was sitting upright underneath the window, and that the cord had been unplugged and set atop it.

There was a shifting in the darkness, a movement in the shadows that he could see and hear as a floorboard creaked.

"Who's there?" Stiles asked aloud, his voice a normal level that sounded booming in the darkness. He squinted, eyes peeling apart the shapes for the slightest abnormality or shift.

He was perched on his hands and knees at the very bottom edge of the bed. Suddenly he felt the mattress dip behind him, a warm body pressed against his rear, and an arm snaked around his front to circle around his chest. He was jerked backwards, thrown back down against the mattress harshly. In a quickness that even his eye couldn't catch, the body switched places with him, perched over him. He could see their outline in the darkness, could feel heat radiating off of them, but couldn't make out who it was.

Panic crawled up Stiles throat as the person surged forward. But his yells were silenced by a hand clamping over his mouth. He felt claws dig into his cheek, saw piercing yellow eyes looming mere inches away from his own. The person, who he knew now to be a werewolf, was straddling his waist, holding him down with a terrifying force. No matter how he squirmed and struggled, the person-beast seemed unmoved, undeterred.

"Now, now Stiles, let's not cause a fuss," a smooth, chilling calm voice said, not quite whispering. The eyes disappeared, and hot breath ghosted against the shell of Stiles' ear. "Wouldn't want to wake the sheriff. He's had a long day, don't you think?"

Peter, Stiles' mind announced.

"Derek noticed some movement amongst the Alphas. He was a bit concerned for the humans involved- you, the Argents, Lydia. He wanted Isaac, his sister and I to collect you all, bring you back to the loft while he goes and talks to Scott."

Stiles had stopped struggling, stopped trying to buck Peter off of him, when he heard Alphas. His mind was working lightening fast, trying to imagine what the Alphas could be doing that Derek felt threatened by, when he realized that Peter had let go of his mouth and was now stroking his hair.

"What-" Stiles cut off, not wanting to be practically smothered again. He restarted, more quietly this time. "What on Earth are you freaking doing?" he whisper-shouted.

Peter was laid across the full length of Stiles' body, pinning him down, warming him with his preternatural werewolf heat. Stiles most certainly was not blushing. Nope. Nosiree.

"I never did tell you that I like what you've done with your hair," Peter murmured, carding his fingers through the dark locks. "It suits you."

"Oh, well, th-thanks? I guess," Stiles mumbled. He angled his neck, trying to duck his head away from Peter's creepy fingers.

Peter's hand found its way into his hair anyway, buried deep with fingers curled, locked firmly against Stiles' scalp. He yanked the boy's head back, bared his pale, mole-scattered throat, earned a soft yelp and a stiffening of the body beneath him.

"Yes, your hair is very nice," Peter echoed. He pressed his face into Stiles' neck, breathed deeply his musky teenage scent that beared a certain ripe sweetness.

"Y-you're fucking creepy," Stiles stammered, attempting to shake his head of Peter's firm grip. "Like, pedo-creepy, you realize that, right?"

Peter chuckled, and it rumbled into Stiles' skin. He opened his mouth wide, let his tongue loll out and run along the boy's throat, feeling and tasting his pulse. Stiles shuddered.

He bit down, softly, threatening to mark. Stiles tried to thrash, but Peter was so much stronger; he couldn't help the whimper that escaped him, a mixture of fear and arousal, and Peter soothingly licked at the red welts forming on his neck.

"I thought we were supposed to go b-back to De-erk's loft," Stiles managed out, as Peter's tonguing turned to kisses that trailed down his neck, and as Peter ground down against his completely unwilling but prominent erection.

Stiles moaned, pitifully, causing Peter to bite down, hard, at the space between his neck and shoulder. Stiles hissed.

"You're very much fun," Peter said, relinquishing his hold on Stiles. "But I'm afraid we need to stop."

He sat back on Stiles legs, the boy's erection between them, and Stiles squirmed to cover himself up. He couldn't free his legs, but he brought his arms down, covering his crotch with his wrists and angling his hands up so they weren't touching the werewolf, who was still close.

"Good," Stiles muttered. "I wanted you to stop."

He unthinkingly bit his lip, fluttered his lashes, and his cheeks burned red. Peter zoned in on his mouth, looking hungrier than Stiles has ever seen anybody.

"We need to go," Peter said after shaking himself. He climbed down off the bed, rearranged his clothes. "It isn't safe here."

"But my dad-"

"-will be fine," Peter finished. "The Alphas have no business with him. You are the one who has been poking your nose into our business, mingling with the pack. You are the liability here."

Stiles was shocked, and hurt; he felt a pang in his chest, like someone had socked him there. Peter must have read it on his face, because he stepped forward suddenly. But then he seemed to stop himself, and Stiles couldn't read his face in the dark well enough to tell why. Damn his stupid human eyes.

At least Peter's words had been a total boner killer. He unfolded from himself, stretched out and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Stiles protested, even though he knew it was stupid. He was putting himself and his father in danger now. "I want Derek to come get me."

Stiles would have smirked if the growl from Peter hadn't scared him. He cowered slightly.

"Fine, if you're going to be difficult, then I am going to be rough."

Stiles was prepared to scream. Peter was prepared for him to be prepared to scream. The older male darted forward and covered his mouth, pulled Stiles tightly to him. He was very nearly smothering he boy, and he knew it.

"Are you going to come consciously, or do I need to take you unconsciously?"

Stiles, stricken once again with panic even as Peter sort of cradled him against him, tried to flee like prey from a grossly more powerful predator. But Peter just shushed him, held him more tightly, his free hand tracing calming circles on Stiles' stomach.

But that only made Stiles struggle more as he imagined the older man dominating him, imagined him wolfing out and doing unkind things to him. Peter sighed almost sadly as he moved his hand to cover Stiles' nose as well.

"I don't want to do this Stiles," he cooed as the boy thrashed against him, fighting for air. "Be a good boy now and go to sleep."

Spots reigned over Stiles' vision, and he felt a tingling in his fingers and lips. His eyes rolled back, and he felt Peter's grip slacken, although it was too late now for Stiles to fight back.

Stiles did go to sleep. He went into a very deep sleep, listening to Peter chuckle with satisfaction as he went.

He just hoped the werewolf wouldn't try to carry him bridal style and embarrass him in front of everybody at the loft. He had his dignity, and it laid in being carried like a sack of potatoes over someone's shoulder.

\---------

It was not pleasant waking up a second time. His head hurt, no doubt from being suffocated. If only he had gotten enough brain damage to forget last night.

Stiles was sprawled across a leather couch that felt like a cloud. A blanket had been tossed over him, and he would have been touched if he wasn't angry about the whole "you're a liability now I'm going to smother you," thing.

With a huff, Stiles sat up, staving off nausea as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and swung his legs off the couch. He was surprised to find Boyd and Isaac curled up on the floor in front of him, and Scott draped over the armchair across the room.

Stiles would have been flattered that he had gotten the best bed in the place. But again, the near-death encounter caused by Peter stopped him and made him seethe instead.

"You're awake," a gruff voice stated matter-of-factly. Derek was standing off to the side as if he had been watching them all sleep. Weird.

"Yeah, you know, that's what happens when you're done sleeping," Stiles replied, his sarcasm carrying an extra bite this morning.

Derek rolled his eyes. He took a gulp of the coffee in his hand. Not a sip, a gulp. The coffee was probably black as death too.

Stiles crossed his legs beneath him, figuring he would wait until Boyd and Isaac got up to move anywhere. He didn't really need to pee yet anyway.

"So. You and Ms. Blake," Stiles began, trying to break the awkward silence.

Derek groaned. "Please don't. Lydia bothered me enough about it."

"I won't," Stiles said, raising his hands placatingly. "Just, you know. Way to go." He added a coy wink for good measure.

"Yeah, well, same to you."

Stiles tilted his head. "What?"

Derek gestured at his neck. "You've got a giant bite mark on your throat. Who's the lucky gal?"

With a gasp, Stiles tried to look down at the mark, but it was in a weird spot. He hopped off the couch, tripped over Boyd and earned a grunt, then darted off to what he assumed was the bathroom.

It was. He slammed the door behind him and raced over to peer into the mirror above the sink. He was wearing an over-sized Star Wars shirt that hung off one shoulder. He could clearly see the gnarly bruise already formed on the soft flesh between his neck and shoulder. It was also scabbed over, and a bit of dried blood coated the wound.

With a curse, Stiles turned on the sink and splashed water on it, using tissues off the back of the toilet to dab at it since there were no towels in there, which was a shame because he would have loved to ruin one of Peter's towels.

The bathroom door opened, because of course Stiles had neglected to lock it, and Derek stepped in unbidden.

"What the hell, man? Don't you knock?" Stiles asked indignantly.

Derek ignored him, stepped closer to get a better look at the mark. His brow furrowed, and a dark look washed over his features, as if he wasn't already the king of brooding.

"The teeth marks are deep," Derek noted. "Peter did this, didn't he?"

Stiles paled. "What? You can tell?" he squeaked. "Will the others be able to?"

"If they get close enough. You reek of him. And he clearly lost a bit of control when he did this. These are from wolf teeth."

Stiles wanted to punch the dumb stupid beta that had done this to him in the face. "He could have killed me!"

"No," Derek said quietly. Stiles looked at him in the mirror, saw an odd little smirk on his face. "The wolf wouldn't have done that."

"What? What are you aiming at?" Stiles spun around, faced Derek head on. "Tell me. I want to know!"

"No, you don't," Derek replied, clearly being difficult. "You'll found out soon, anyway."

The Alpha turned to leave, but Stiles slipped around him and blocked the door. Not that his skinny ass could have done anything, but Derek wouldn't hurt him. He hoped.

"Tell me what it is so I don't freak out in front of everybody when I figure it out and embarrass myself more," Stiles pleaded. "Help a brother out."

Derek looked slightly uncomfortable now. "His wolf bit you to mark you. It's obvious that it wants you as a mate. I doubt Peter even meant to do it."

Stiles' jaw hit the floor. He just wanted to pass out again and never wake up.

"But-but if I don't do anything to acknowledge it, if I just let the mark fade-"

"Then the wolf will get restless. It's goal would be to... Well... Mate you."

Derek was trying not to make eye contact out of embarrassment, but he also looked severely amused. Jerk.

Stiles stepped out of the way. The sour wolf opened the door, to reveal Scott standing bleary-eyed in the hallway. Stiles quickly adjusted his shirt so the sleeve was hanging off the other shoulder, and the mark was carefully covered before moving to address Scott.

"Hey, buddy," Stiles said with mock cheerfulness. "You sleep well?"

Scott squinted at him, obviously curious as to why Stiles and Derek had been in the bathroom together, then nodded. "Peter's making breakfast, by the way. I'll be out there in a sec; I have to use the bathroom."

Stiles' best friend moved in around him and nudged the gawking Stiles out into the hallway, shutting the door after him. The kitchen overlooked the living area, since it was really just a kitchenette with counter-seating, so Stiles would have nowhere to hide.

With a shaky sigh, Stiles exited the hallway, knowing it would be weird to wait outside the bathroom.

Today was going to be hell.


	2. Weird Werewolf Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds Peter a little too accommodating. Scott is clueless. Derek is sassy. Isaac and Boyd just want their food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oops I meant to post this last night but I worked late sorry me maties).

Isaac and Boyd were already sitting at the counter when Stiles wandered into the living area. There were four stools, and the two betas had selected the the first and second ones. Stiles eagerly climbed into the third, not wanting to sit on the outside where he could be vulnerable to Peter's wayward touches.

It was horribly awkward. Stiles tried to ignore Peter's eyes, the way they roamed over his body as he sat down. He also tried to ignore Derek's eyes, burning a hole into his back, intently watching the way Stiles interacted with Peter.

"Where are Lydia and Allison?" Stiles asked, attempting to break the silence that encompassed the group.

"With Ms. Blake," Peter answered. "Derek thought it would be more appropriate for them than staying here with older gentlemen and a bunch of teenage boys."

Stiles swallowed thickly and nodded at the counter, unable to meet the beta's eyes. He didn't realize that was an act of submissiveness, and Peter was pleased with it all the same.

"What do we do now?" Isaac inquired. "Are we really just going to hole up? Hide away like cowards?"

"They're all alphas. Do you really want a repeat of our last fight, where I nearly ended up dead?" Derek snapped. "No, we're going to train. We'll be ready for an attack, but we aren't going to take the offensive unless absolutely necessary."

"What would necessitate us attacking them?" Peter asked, cracking an egg into his skillet.

"If they take a hostage," Derek replied.

Peter merely shrugged. "Only the weakest get taken. If they are such a liability, they are hardly worth fighting for to get back."

There was that word again. Liability. Was he referring to Stiles, as he had been last night?

Derek seemed to sense the way Stiles stiffened and then curled in on himself. "What if it were Stiles?"

Peter had been stirring pancake batter, but now he stopped and regarded Stiles, who had been looking to Peter for a response. Their eyes met, Stiles' trying not to be pleading but failing, Peters' thoughtful.

"Well of course we would save him," Peter announced, going back to his pancakes. "He may not be the strongest of the group, but given the intelligence of your young, hormone-consumed betas, he's certainly the smartest."

Stiles couldn't help the flush that creeped up onto his face. He glanced at Isaac and Boyd, to see their reaction to the whole exchange. Neither of them seemed to have noticed the fond tone in which Peter spoke of Stiles, nor were they upset at being insulted for their intelligence. They were hungrily eying the food Peter was preparing, and were practically drooling onto the countertop.

Scott finally emerged from the bathroom and flopped down in onto the stool next to Stiles. Stiles was blushing down at the counter, feeling like he was going to melt out of his skin.

"Dude, what's up?" Scott asked, yawning. "You look weird."

Stiles wanted to slap his friend. "It's nothing," Stiles mumbled. "Just... Don't feel well, is all."

That wasn't entirely a lie. His stomach did hurt, although it was more because of the butterflies punching the shit out of his stomach than actual illness.

"You should go lie down," Scott offered. "You did just have an adjustment in your meds, right?" he whispered. "Your dad mentioned it, sorry."

Stiles nodded, glad that Scott's inability to be subtle or quiet gave him an out. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe it'll go away if I lie down for a bit."

"You can go to my room," Peter said, as Stiles stood.

Stiles nearly fell, would have if Scott hadn't stood up lightening-quick to help him.

"Wh-what?" Stiles squeaked, looking at Peter, who was smiling to himself. Prick.

"That way you have your privacy," Peter offered. "And it's certainly more comfortable than the couch."

That's a lie, that couch is like a giant god damn pillow, Stiles thought.

"Which way is it?" Scott asked, putting Stiles' arm around his shoulders.

"No, man, come on," Stiles protested.

"Look, I don't like the guy either, but you really need a quiet place to relax."

The concern evident on Scott's face, and the appealing idea of getting away from Peter and Derek's staring for a while led Stiles to nod wordlessly. Peter smirked, and pointed to a door off the hallway.

It was embarrassing, having Scott help him to Peter's room, but he had gotten himself in this mess and now he had to deal with it. He caught Derek grinning into his mug in the corner, and would have kicked the dumb Alpha in the face, if it wouldn't have resulted in him getting his foot bitten off.

Scott took him into the bedroom- which was nice, by the way, but that was no surprise considering how Peter dressed. He deposited Stiles on the bed, which was probably the most comfortable thing he had ever laid on. The comforter was white and had the consistency of marshmallows.

"Is this a Tempur-Pedic?" Stiles murmured.

"I don't know," Scott said, sounding amused. "Sleep tight, though."

Scott shut the door softly behind himself. Stiles was feeling a bit tired. Maybe that actually was the meds. But it was hard to sleep when he was too busy trying to figure out if the side he was lying on was Peter's side. Did he even have a side, since he slept alone? Should Stiles get under the covers, or would that be too weird?

Stiles shook the idea out of his head. Why would he do that? Why did he feel so at ease here? He could hear his own heartbeat, felt his blood as it thrummed from his heart out to his entire body, down to the tips of his fingers. The mark from Peter throbbed dully, but not painfully- almost... pleasurably. His senses were hyper-sensitive; he could smell Peter, faint traces of his cologne on the pillow.

He lost of the battle of resisting the urge to get under the covers and envelope himself in that scent. He curled in on himself; his arm brushed against his own stark erection, which he hadn't even realized he had.

Without realizing what he was doing- he felt like he was in a dream, like none of this was real- he eased the waistband of his sweatpants down to below his thighs, grabbed his dick in his hand, and imagined it was Peter's hand around him. Already slick with pre-cum, Stiles jacked himself off. It took barely any touching at all before he was coming in his hand, all over his thighs, and onto the blankets covering him.

Stiles threw back the covers, looked down at the semen glistening on his hand and on his skin. He came to himself, understood that he had really just masturbated in Peter's bed, and that he had visualized it was Peter himself doing it. What the hell was wrong with him?

The door across the room opened suddenly. Stiles tried to quickly yank his pants up, but given his still shaky, ever-fumbling hands, he knew he was caught.

Peter was standing in the doorway. For a brief moment, shock showed in his blue, blue eyes, but then a lascivious smirk crept across his face. He fully entered the room, shut the door with a soft click behind him, and then locked it.

"Jerking yourself off in someone else's bed?" Peter said teasingly. "Where are your manners? I would have liked to be party to this."

A blush worked its way across Stiles face, then down his entire body. He felt like he was burning up under Peter's appreciative gaze.

"What's happening to me?" Stiles demanded, gripping the sheets as waves of arousal washed over his body. "I feel so strange."

"You're in the wolf's den now, sweetheart," Peter replied. He strolled over to the edge of the bed, put his hands at either side of Stiles' feet. "The bite is reacting to me, to my bed, to my scent. It's releasing the venom it had stored under the surface of your skin, the same venom I unwittingly injected into you last night. Until I claim you, it will continue to do so whenever it feels me close, or whenever it's been too long since I've been close. It's a way of ensuring that the wolf gets what it wants, of keeping you in tune with its desires."

"Derek said the mark won't fade, the wolf won't let it," Stiles said.

Peter climbed up onto the bed, positioning himself at the edge of it on his knees. Stiles scrambled further up the mattress, sitting up fully, pulling his knees up against himself.

"No, the wolf will always find you before the venom runs out," Peter said, his voice dropping low, gruff. "So it's better that we settle this now."


	3. At Last, My Love Has Come Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly two months since I updated this. I have no excuse, other than that creativity cannot be rushed.

Peter climbed up the bed, and Stiles kept retreating until he was pressing himself into the headboard to get away. The beta was unamused with his antics; he grabbed one of Stiles' ankles and dragged him forward, closer to him.

"Relax," Peter whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He grabbed Stiles by the shoulders, pushed him down on the mattress and pinned him there. Stiles was conflicted; his body wanted to stay and be ravaged, while his mind wanted nothing else than to flee, to get as far away from Peter as humanly (or inhumanly) possible.

Peter seemed to read his mind. He undid his own belt, slipped it from around his waist, and as Stiles was writhing about, trying to free himself from beneath Peter's knee now on his chest, the beta somehow managed to restrain Stiles' wrists to a rung of the headboard.

He sat back on Stiles' legs again, forcing them to stay down. He watched with waning interest as Stiles tugged at the belt, desparate to break free.

"I don't want to do this," Stiles said, even though his body was practically begging for it. 

"You don't really have a choice," Peter cooed, putting his face close to Stiles'. Stiles was barely a part of the conversation anymore; he stared at Peter's lips, inches from his own, but heard no words come out. "The wolf isn't going to stop until it has you in its claws."

Peter pushed Stiles' shirt up, ran his hands up the boy's torso, his fingers ghosting along and causing Stiles to shiver and break out in gooseflesh. His hands rippled over ribs, brushed over nipples, straying up further until his hands were at Stiles' neck; he didn't apply pressure, merely rested them there, feeling the boy's pulse. Stiles' eyes were wide-- shiny in the dimness in the room, like saucers-- and he looked so afraid, that Peter started to pull away.

"No," Stiles moaned out, grinding up against Peter. His eyes still looked uncertain, and he was quaking like a pinned rabbit, but his body was coursing with bane and adrenaline, fit to burst. Peter had to do something.

Stiles didn't turn his head away as Peter pressed his lips to his, ever so softly, almost tenderly. When Peter's tongue delved into his mouth, Stiles didn't fight, but kissed back with increasing fervor until Stiles was straining against his bonds trying to pull himself and get further into Peter's mouth.

"Now," Stiles pleaded, turning his face away abruptly. "I want it now."

Peter's face dipped down, trying to catch Stiles' eyes, but the boy closed his own. His face was flushed a lovely shade of red, and Peter knew Stiles was embarrassed as much as he was turned on. Peter had almost forgotten he was a virgin.

"Just don't be too loud," Peter whispered, breath ghosting across Stiles' skin.

Stiles arched his neck up, crashing his lips into Peter's. Peter's tongue darted into Stiles' mouth, tasting him fully, urgently, clearly on the edge of control already as fangs poked into Stiles' tongue.

Peter suddenly pulled back.

"This is in the way," Peter said, hooking his claws into Stiles' shirt. He shredded it, until Stiles' torso was bare and the strips were discarded on the floor.

Stiles' mind was clouded over with lust. He barely cared for the desecration of one of his most beloved shirts. All he cared was that Peter was removing his own shirt, as well.  
Peter removed the belt from around Stiles' wrists, confident the boy wouldn't try to escape now. He pushed Stiles pants down as Stiles rubbed his arms, trying to get feeling back into his fingers, and Stiles was able to see that he was fully hard again mere minutes after cumming. Werewolf venom did that to you, he guessed.

A gasp escaped Stiles as Peter's hand grabbed his dick, started stoking it, using his cum from before as lubricant.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Stiles panted. "I'm going to-"

Stiles moaned loudly as Peter started jerking him faster without warning. Peter pressed against Stiles' thigh, his erection straining against his pants and against Stiles.   
Another orgasm wracked Stiles' body. He came over Peter's hand, shuddering, while Peter rutted against his leg, clearly trying to get himself off.

Peter stopped, without orgasming, and Stiles was amazed at the man's self-control.

"Turn over," Peter growled. His eyes eclipsed for just a second into a intense, glowing blue, and Stiles didn't bother to complain that he had just orgasmed for the second time in like ten minutes. His dick was already flagging to attention again, anyway.

Stiles laid face down on the bed and hugged a pillow under his chin so he would be more comfortable. Peter took the only other pillow on the bed and shoved it underneath Stiles' pelvis, causing the boy to blush furiously and bury his face in the other pillow as he imagined his ass jutting in the air.

Stiles felt a prodding at his hole, and then a finger was being pushed inside of him, slicked with cum. He bit his lip hard to keep from moaning, aware that the others could very well still be out in the kitchen.

After a moment, Peter stopped. He reached over to the bedside table,and Stiles heard a drawer opening. He heard a cap being popped, and then two fingers were pressing into his ass, slicker than before.

As Peter fucked him with one hand, he deftly undid his own pants with the other, and after much struggling managed to get them pushed partway down his thighs. In the meantime, he added another finger, and Stiles was sweating, he felt so stretched he swore he could rip apart.

But when Peter's hand retreated completely, Stiles felt so empty, and he jerked involuntarily against the pillow.

"Are you ready?" Peter asked teasingly, leaning over him.

"Just hurry up and fuck me you pr-"

Stiles didn't finish his sentence, as Peter started pushing into him, and he yelped in surprise. He shoved his face in the pillow, trying to stifle the noises as Peter pushed further and further into him.

When Peter finally stopped moving, Stiles realized that Peter was stroking Stiles' thigh almost tenderly, and was kissing his neck softly. He legitimately felt bad for causing Stiles pain.

But Stiles couldn't stand the fullness for much longer. Peter seemed to sense that, as he pulled out again, agonizingly slow, and then drove in a bit quicker this time. He pulled out one more time, slowly, and then slammed into Stiles, making him moan wantonly into the pillow.

He started moving, quickly picking up the pace until he was driving into Stiles over and over, their thighs slapping together. Stiles was biting the pillow, suppressing his screams, adamant about not screaming Peter's name. 

Peter propped himself up on his arms and started fucking Stiles in short bursts, jerking his hips quickly and driving against Stiles' prostate over and over. Peter suddenly stopped, and his hips twitched as he spilled his seed deep into Stiles. The hot cum filling Stiles up instantly sent him over the edge, and he came a third time.

Peter pulled out right as he was done cumming and collapsed to one side of the bed. Stiles pulled the pillow out from under him and struggled to pull his pants up with one hand. He suddenly felt very vulnerable; exposed.

Peter rolled closer to Stiles, who was still lying face down and had his face turned towards him. He kissed the boy on the cheek, making him flush red all over again.

"How do you feel?" Peter asked, massaging Stiles' neck with one hand.

"Tired," Stiles replied, closing his eyes. "Dog-tired."

Peter chuckled, then pulled away. He got off the bed and yanked the blankets out from under Stiles without misplacing the boy, just as if he were pulling the tablecloth off of a set table and still left every article in its place. He covered Stiles up with the blankets, and proceeded to tuck Stiles in; Stiles couldn't help grinning like a fool into his pillow.

"Sleep tight," Peter said. He carded his fingers through Stiles' hair one last time before dipping out of the room.

Stiles fell asleep, not really caring to ponder on the fact that he now had a werewolf boyfriend who doted on him.


	4. Neglect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has an awkward brush with Scott. Peter then makes an appearance. But no sexy times this time, just fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering the show went on hiatus I thought I had an excuse to as well. I honestly shouldn't have. Sorry to leave you guys flapping in the wind like neglected laundry over the course of the winter. I will now take you, my frozen sheets, and attempt to warm you up again.
> 
> This is just a very short little tidbit, so you guys know that I'm still alive. I honestly don't know how I will proceed; I've taken too long to continue, and have lost direction. I want to bring it up to pace with the current part of the season, but will have to go back and watch part one to get reacquainted. Any advice of direction from you lovelies would actually be very helpful.

When Stiles awoke again, for the third time in a mere twelve hours, he could hear voices echoing through the loft. Despite the soreness he felt, Stiles quickly got up and put his pants back on, only to then realize that his shirt was in tatters. He also felt cum dripping down his legs, and realized he had neglected to clean himself up before drifting off into sleep.

There was a sudden knock at the door which made Stiles' heart leap into his throat. He cursed, and lunged back under the covers, attempting to cover his bare chest and his shame.

Scott peeked his head in, predictably. Stiles put on a convincing act like he was just waking up, rubbing his eyes and then peering at his friend with a squint, as if sensitive to the light.

"Stiles, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to dip out for a bit," Scott said in a hushed tone. 

"Going to sneak over and see Allison?" Stiles replied knowingly. Scott's face flushed.

"Look, this is actually important."

"Whatever, dude, leave me here with a bunch of wolves. I'll just sleep the day away anyhow."

Stiles rolled over, pretending to go back to sleep, but in actuality he stared ahead of him with eyes wide and panicked, hoping that Scott couldn't smell or see anything, that he would just leave Stiles alone.

Apparently Scott was too preoccupied to sense that anything had gone on between Peter and Stiles in this very room earlier, for Stiles heard the door click shut and footsteps retreating down the hall. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. Now to get himself a new shirt, somehow. And to contact his father, to let him know he hadn't been kidnapped. Well, not by strangers, anyway.

There was another knock at the door. Stiles wanted to throw up.

"Come in," he called out, his voice breaking slightly. He fully expected to be caught.

The door creaked open, and then clicked soundly shut. Stiles looked over his shoulder to see Peter, carrying Stiles' own backpack.

"Derek went to visit your father and assured him that you are more safe with us then at home right now. I convinced Derek to grab you some things while he was there," Peter said, his voice low. "I figured you could use some more clothes, considering I wrecked yours."

Peter dropped the bag at the foot of the bed. He looked up, just in time to catch Stiles' eyes wide as a cornered doe's. Stiles quickly looked away, feeling his cheeks flame.

"I'll leave you alone now," Peter said quietly. "You can use my master bathroom to shower off our... escapades." His voice was coarse, rubbing Stiles down roughly and making him shiver. Stiles could imagine the victorious smirk on his stupid face, the lust glinting in his blue eyes.

Stiles braced himself, and forced himself to look up again, not one to be defeated. But it wasn't lust he saw in Peter's eyes as he was leaving the room. He smiled back at Stiles one last time. Smiled.

Stiles flushed all over again, felt butterflies punching to get out of his stomach. He felt adored.

\---

It was a while before Stiles got another private moment with Peter. A long while.


	5. Old Flames Can't Hold A Candle To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to Derek's loft to see what he can find out about Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to stride ahead, disregarding the fact that it may conflict with the show. I'm only guessing at why Derek left town. I don't really know. Maybe some smut next chapter? We'll see.

Derek was back in town, after he and Peter disappeared for what seemed like months. Concluding the fight against Deucalion, they were vulnerable because of the Nemeton and the bad things that it would bring to Beacon Hills. They probably wanted better defenses, or answers on how to stop it.

But Peter didn't send word to Stiles. He didn't mention his going, let alone when he would be home. Stiles felt discarded, like a toy that had lost its luster. He felt as if he had been lost down the side of the bed, and was now hiding beneath it, forgotten in its dusty depths.

So, Derek was back now. Did that mean Peter was too? He hadn't seen Peter, though. Or heard from him.

Not that Stiles cared because he liked Peter or anything. Those feelings had passed as he waited and waited, as days turned into weeks and still he did not hear a peep out of Peter. He tried to ask Scot discreetly, if he knew where the Hales had gone, but Scott had no more of a clue than he did.

No, Stiles only cared because he could feel a heat, an intense longing, deep in his gut. At time he would lie awake at night, unable to sleep, because his entire body was aflame. He remembered what Peter had said, about how distance and time would make things much worse for him. Stiles would writhe in pain, unable to do anything about it, because the only person who knew what was going on was gone. He could only wonder if Peter was feeling the same thing, or if he knew what was happening to Stiles but just didn't care.

Derek had returned to Beacon Hills, as the creatures clothed in blackness with masks and eyes that glowed like fireflies emerged. Stiles decided to visit his loft, alone, and see if he knew where his uncle had gone.

Derek was cleaning up the night after the rave. He looked up as Stiles came in and growled, deep in his throat, his eyes flashing blue. But realizing it was just Stiles, he relaxed.

"Sorry," he grumbled, shoving another red Solo cup into the trash bag he was toting. "Teenagers have been coming by all day to get stuff they left behind. I thought you were one of them."

"No," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His eyes roamed around the room nervously. "I was wondering… if you know where Peter is, actually."

Derek nodded, not in answer of Stiles' question, but as if confirming to himself as to why Stiles was here. "Yeah, he's around."

Stiles felt his eyes sting. Was Derek being vague on purpose? Did Peter not want Stiles to know where he was?

"Are you gonna tell me, or…?"

Derek sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Peter's my uncle. But even I can recognize that he's not the best guy in the world. I told you that the longer you stay away from him, the stronger the bane he injected into you will get. But as long as you don't… consummate anything, it will eventually wear off. It will just be painful until then. And considering how frustrated his wolf is now about being away for so long, I suspect it won't be much longer."

Stiles scuffed his foot into the floor. "What if… we did consummate it?"

He heard Derek drop the trash bag to the floor with a soft thud, and a clanking of many bottles and cups. He was silent for seemed like eternity, and Stiles felt his face pulse he was blushing so hard under Derek's critical stare.

"He's probably out looking for you, then." Derek snatched the bag back up off the floor. He bent down to pick something up but then paused, and looked up at Stiles from his squatted position. "Peter hasn't ever… cared about anyone enough, to actually mate them. At first I thought he was just toying with you, but I guess… I mean, he's always been reckless, but if he's willing to go through so much trouble…" Derek clenched his jaw, seemingly at a loss for words. "I thought it was just Peter's wolf that was frustrated. He's been in awful mood since we left. Maybe he really did miss you."

Derek resumed his work, and so Stiles turned to leave. He would have been lying if he said that he didn't feel just the slightest bit happy about that admittance from Derek. But he wouldn't believe it until he heard it from Peter himself.


	6. Long-Awaited Reply

Stiles didn’t know where to look for Peter, because he didn’t know where Peter would be looking for him. As he was driving home, his mind spun with confusion. Why did this have to be so difficult? Things had been so much simpler when everyone was human and everything made sense.

Now there were a bunch of dumb stupid werewolves running around, none of whom could keep their animalistic natures under control. The only one who had possessed even a semblance of reign over her powers had been Erica, and now she and Boyd…

Stiles was at a stop light. He rested his forehead on his steering wheel, trying to calm his raging, depression-soaked thoughts. He was contemplating going home and lying in bed for a few days, just until the storm subsided and seas stilled enough for him to sail free again.

He was startled back to the present as a car horn blared behind him. He stomped on his gas and sped through the intersection, and then the rest of the way home.

As he climbed down out of his jeep, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Obviously it was Scott. Who else texted him?

_Dude just got creeped on by peter, said he was looking for you dont know what you got yourself into if dereks saying its okay…_

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. What was Peter doing? Trying to get them found out?

Of course he was. Peter seemed just like the type of possessive asshole to do that.

The police cruiser wasn’t in the driveway, meaning his dad was still at work. Stiles didn’t want to be alone for once.

It was a long trek up the stairs and to his own bedroom. The house was deathly quiet, and darkness presided over the proceedings. He didn’t turn any lights on because he knew his way around enough, and he felt less expoxed with the shadows hunched over him comfortingly.

The desk lamp was on in his room. He looked around, as if expecting someone to be waiting for him. But the room looked undisturbed, and the window was still firmly locked, given the recent appearance of evil black masked men. Not that the window being locked meant much of anything if they could rise out of the floor. 

Stiles shut the door and leaned forward against it, pressing his face into the wood. He hadn’t done anything today, and yet, he was exhausted. Just moving over to his bed seemed like a hassle. He wanted to curl up like a sad puddle of muck and sleep.

Stiles suddenly heard movement from behind him, and he opened his eyes just soon enough to see a shadow cast over the door. He felt arms surround him, and a gruff face press into his neck.

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Peter mumbled into his skin. “I left you for so long.”

Stiles brushed Peter off, slightly surprised at how easy it was to break the werewolf’s hold—Peter must have been anticipating it. Stiles spun around and pressed his back against the door, his arms down at either side of him. He refused to look Peter in the eye, instead staring down at his feet.

“Do you know how long I waited?” Stiles asked coldly. He bit his lip as tears pricked his eyes, tried to keep his voice from quivering as he spoke. “Do you know how much it would have meant to me, just to hear a word from you? To know that you were okay, that you hadn’t completely abandoned me? Do you have any idea how painful it’s gotten, being away from you? Did you take any of that into consideration?”

Peter looked down dejectedly, now the one unable to meet Stiles’ scorn- and tear-filled eyes. Stiles reached up to grab his jaw, to make Peter look at Stiles’ face, at the sadness he had caused, but Peter jerked away before Stiles’ fingers could even brush his stubble.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. Just-“

Peter stepped forward suddenly, bumping Stiles back into the door again. Stiles felt his heart soar in his chest, felt his whole body respond to Peter’s overwhelming presence. 

Peter lifted his hand up and laid it gently against Stiles’ neck, his thumb right at his pulse. Peter pressed his forehead against his mate’s. Peter closed his eyes, breathed in deeply through his nose.

Then he stopped, sniffed more carefully. He snarled, his hot breath in Stiles’ face.

“You smell like Derek,” he grunted accusingly, glaring Stiles down. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, tried to shove Peter off of him again, but the older man stood fast.

“I was over at his loft to ask where you were,” Stiles replied, his voice sharp. He could feel his pulse quicken, not because he was lying, but because he now had an angry werewolf at his throat. He knew Peter could feel it too.

Peter pulled away, looking betrayed. Stiles felt his own anger pique—he should be the one looking like that, not Peter.

“Why don’t you just leave?” Stiles supplied, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly. “Run away, just like you did last time-“

Peter roared in Stiles’ face. His eyes flashed a sharp blue and his teeth glinted, suddenly elongated. Stiles couldn’t help cowering against the door, eyes wide as he stared fearfully up at the man who was supposed to love him. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurted breathlessly. He wasn’t really sorry—he hadn’t done anything wrong, but in that moment it was the only thing he could think to say to calm Peter down. “I’m sorry, just- don’t hurt me.”

That seemed to snap Peter out of it. He spun away, probably to try and compose himself. His back was tense, his hands were balled into fists, and he was breathing heavily. Then, all of a sudden, he relaxed, as if some sort of spell had been broken. He turned back to Stiles, the same man as who had greeted him. Except this time he looked guiltier. He looked Stiles in the eyes, registered the lingering fear, and swallowed thickly, clearly disgusted with himself.

“I-“ Peter raised a placating hand as he began to speak, and the flash of movement caused Stiles, who was still jumpy, to flinch. Peter looked like he wanted to die.

“I’ll just go now,” Peter said more quietly. He spun around, stalked towards the window, wrenched it open so the lock snapped and broke, and then dove out into the approaching blackness outside.

Stiles didn’t move. He couldn’t. Everything had changed so fast—Peter had been guilty, then so loving, then accusatory, then outright brutal, and then guilty again. Stiles felt like he had whiplash.

After a couple moments, he dug his phone out of his pocket, moving slowly, as if he expected Peter to fly back in the window any moment. He pulled up a new message for Derek.

_I found Peter. I think I’m in trouble._


	7. I Want Every Other Freckle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap this fic was first published two years ago. This sad thing has been dragging along for a long time.
> 
> By the way, this next chapter might deserve warnings of somnophilia. Just in case that makes you uncomfortable in particular

Derek told Stiles that he would try to reason with Peter. Whether or not he had succeeded was unknown, as Stiles had not heard from either of them in days. In the meantime, Stiles wallowed in his own sadness and frustration at home. Luckily it was summertime, and he didn't have any pressing engagements. Scott was busy with Kira (when was he not caught up with some girl nowadays?) and Sheriff Stilinski was busy down at the station, most days and some nights when he couldn't get away.

Stiles could barely function. He did not sleep much-- at night he restlessly tossed and turned in bed, some unyielding force keeping him awake. When he was able to sleep, he didn't remember his dreams, and he woke up feeling hardly more rested than before.

He knew it had to be related to Peter. His body had felt the older man in its presence, and now it wanted more. Stiles himself, not so much.

Exhaustion finally overtook his body, however. He fell soundly asleep one night into a deep, dark slumber where nothing from the conscious world could reach him. His phone vibrated so immensely it fell off his bedside table, and continued to vibrate on the floor. If only he had been awake to block those calls from an increasingly agitated werewolf who thought Stiles was ignoring him.

\-----

Peter stared up at the Stilinski house, waiting for a sign of movement inside. The Sheriff was not at home, only Stiles was, as Peter could tell by the junky blue jeep out front. But all of the rooms in the house were dark, and Peter could not hear or see anything. 

After several moments of deliberation (which really only amounted to a few seconds because Peter was not a patient man) the werewolf strode up to the house, beneath Stiles' window, and vaulted up the side with ease.

The stupid box fan was on the window sill again. Peter deftly lifted it up and placed it gently down on the floor inside, resisting the urge to chuck it outside behind him. He slipped in through the window, aware of the unmoving figure on the bed which Peter could tell was sleeping by the heartbeat and by the slow breaths. His nose was assaulted by Stiles' scent, heavy in the air on this hot summer's night-- Peter had to resist wolfing out then and there, as the beast inside him longed to come out and assail the teen lying facedown on the bed, still slumbering peacefully.

Peter approached the bed, carefully stepping over the creaky floorboards. Stiles seemed to stir, and Peter stopped as the boy rolled over, twisting in his sheets. He held his breath, waiting for Stiles' thick eyelashes to flutter open, for those soft pink lips to say something. But Stiles just sighed in his sleep, completely ignorant of the werewolf looming over him.

Peter was glad his eyes were able to see clearly in the dark room. His acute eyes roamed over Stiles' pale flesh, which was plentiful on this humid night-- he was not wearing a shirt, and Peter's eyes could pick out every mole on his soft white skin. He followed the soft tufts of dark hair that made up his happy trail all the way down his lower abdomen to where his view was cut off by the thin white sheets. It was questionable whether Stiles was even wearing pants.

The werewolf was starting to feel dizzy breathing in the smell of Stiles' musky skin. He didn't know when he had gotten so close-- his own shadow fell over the boy's sleeping form, and Peter rested his hands on the edge of the bed, liking the way Stiles' body shifted slightly towards him as the mattress dipped. He bent down closer, putting his face right up against Stiles' neck. Peter nuzzled against the sensitive skin, inhaling deep the intoxicating aroma.

Stiles still had not woken up. He didn't stir again. Peter could hear his heartbeat. It was admittedly slower than usual, but not too slow that Peter was worried; Stiles was just sleeping very heavily.

Peter stood up slightly. His mind was working against him now, partially eclipsed by wolf clawing desperately at the back of his consciousness. He placed his hand on the boy's side, and let his hand slide down the smooth skin all the way down to where it met the sheets. He pushed his hand underneath, and felt more fabric-- more specifically, the elastic of underwear.

Peter pulled back the sheets entirely; they were grey, form-fitting boxer-briefs.

If not for the fact that he had murdered and manipulated people before, Peter might have felt minutely bad about creeping on a teenage boy with whom he had already had sex with. He might have even felt bad about abducting him. But as it was now, Peter did not care in the slightest. This place smelled too much like just Stiles, and not enough like Peter himself.

Peter grabbed a t-shirt that had been thrown across a chair in the room and took it over to Stiles on the bed. He already knew the boy wouldn't wake up. Peter knelt on the bed and hoisted Stiles' torso up, supporting Stiles against his chest as he put the sleeves over his arms and then pulled the rest of the fabric over his head. He pulled the shirt down over Stiles' torso, Peter's hands grazing soft skin as he did. Then Peter picked Stiles up in his arms, bridal style, with Stiles' head resting on his chest.

Luckily no one was home. But whether or not any of the neighbors would see was a concern. He debated going back out the window and jumping down, but that might jostle Stiles too much. He decided to go out the back door and then sneak around in the shadow of the house to his car.

Everything was telling him this was a bad idea. Kidnapping the Sheriff's son? And what would happen if Stiles woke up? Or _when_ he woke up, because he was going to wake up in the morning, and then what would Peter tell him?

But none of that mattered now, because the wolf wanted him, and this was the only way to satiate him, by being close to Stiles. Peter couldn't be here when the Sheriff got home, he couldn't risk it. And besides, this place stank like the Sheriff.


	8. Wrapped Around Your Finger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this real quick before bed so sorry if it's short (this and the last should have been put together but too late for that now) Don't worry I'm already plotting the next chapter as we speak ;)

Stiles awoke, disoriented, in a bed that was not his in a room that was not his. But he didn't need to ask where he was because he already knew by the warm body pressed along his and the hot breath against his neck, and also by the marshmallow-white comforter thrown over him where he was.

Stiles tried to get up but the arm around his waist turned into a vice grip and the body against him stiffened.

"Before you say anything-"

The Sheriff's son lifted up his elbow and brought it down on Peter's ribs. Hard. Peter let go, probably not because he was actually injured, but probably because he didn't want Stiles to injure himself while trying to injure him.  
Stiles sat up in bed and turned to look at Peter. The man was hard to read-- if he felt guilty for what he had done, he didn't show it.

"You kidnapped me? Really?" Stiles asked, trying not to let the shakiness in his voice come through. He knew it did. Peter looked mildly concerned.

"I did it for your own good-"

"-you did it for your own good," Stiles interrupted. "You accused me of basically fooling around, got angry and lost control, and then disappeared for several days. And you kidnap me for my benefit?"

Peter had broken eye contact and was now looking down. However he still seemed focused, as if he were listening for something.

"You're angry," he finally stated.

Stiles just about blew a gasket. "As if that wasn't evident enough!"

"You're scared too."

"You abducted me! In my sleep, might I add. I woke up in some strange place-"

"But you've been here before."

Peter finally looked up again. His piercing blue eyes were lustful, and as he raked them down Stiles' body their intensity made it feel like hands were all over him. Stiles had been here before, the first time he was "abducted." And last time, they had-

Stiles scrambled out of bed and turned away. As the sheets fell away he realized he wasn't wearing pants, just boxer briefs. But he also realized he was wearing a shirt, which he hadn't put on. Plus, it wasn't his shirt-- it was a loose black v-neck.

"Is this your shirt?" Stiles mumbled without turning around to face him.

"Yeah, I did put you in one of your own but it stank so-"

"Stank like what?"

Peter sighed. "It didn't stink, I guess it just smelled too much like you-"

"I was wearing it yesterday and it was really hot, so it got sweaty. Are you saying you put this other shirt on me because you wanted me to smell like you?"

Stiles turned around. He tugged the shirt down in the front so it covered more of his underwear. Peters' eyes were down at crotch level, so Stiles knew the other man had been looking at his ass.

Peter's eyes ghosted back up to meet his. "Is that a problem? That you smell like me?"

He reached out and grabbed Stiles' hand and gave it a tug, indicating that he wanted Stiles to get back in bed. Stiles didn't listen.

"What do you want from me?" Stiles demanded.

"I just want you." 

Peter pulled his hand more insistently this time, guiding Stiles back over the bed. He wanted Stiles to lie next to him, but instead Stiles climbed on top, forcing Peter to lie on his back. He straddled Peter's hips, and was still able to feel his erection even through the comforter. Peter made like he was going to take the blankets off, but Stiles grabbed his wrists and pinned them on either side of his head.

Peter met his eyes challengingly. Stiles was mere inches from his face, but he didn't move.

"I'm stronger than you, you know that," Peter teased.

"Then prove it."

Peter looked at the position he was in-- Stiles on top of him, willingly. "I don't know if I want to."


	9. Hold You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only got 4 hours sleep last night and it looks like tonight will be the same. Your guys' support has made me desperately eager to finish this story. I think this will be the best chapter yet ;)
> 
> Also? Maybe? One more chapter? I don't know yet.

Stiles suddenly looked hesitant. One moment ago he was all ready to lead but now that he was in control he didn't seem to know what to do with it.

Of course, Peter could only guess what Stiles was thinking. What he wouldn't give to be in the boy's head at that moment...

Despite his reluctance to be dominated, Peter resisted guiding Stiles in any way. He was willing to let Stiles feel in control if it meant keeping him. Even Peter's wolf was relatively content considering the circumstances.

Stiles was currently sitting on top of Peter, but seeing as he was leaned forward, it meant their pelvises were touching. Peter resisted the urge to grind his hips into Stiles' to get some sort of reaction out of him. 

Suddenly Stiles was leaning down closer, bringing their faces nearer to each other. Peter neglected the urge to crane his neck upwards, to catch Stiles' lips with his, to delve deeper into that hot, wet mouth.

"You know you don't have to do this, Peter assured, even though his skin felt like it was on fire.

Stiles seemed startled by the sound of Peter's voice, as if he had been acutely focused on what he was doing. He didn't respond to Peter but instead let go of the man's wrists. Peter, despite being freed, didn't move, as he was still honed in on Stiles' face.

Stiles brought the rest of his body down so he was lying flush against Peter, their bodies meeting in all the same places. Peter was still trapped beneath the comforter, but he could still fell the heat radiating off of Stiles. He could still hear Stiles' heart, which was slowly picking up pace.

But Stiles' face remained emotionless. Was Stiles toying with him?

"Do you want to do it my way?" Stiles inquired abruptly.

"And what way would that be?" Peter replied, his voice seducing but equally cautious. He didn't like being toyed with.

"No touching."

Peter was confused, but Stiles was on a whole different page. He got off of Peter and grabbed the comforter, whipping it off him.

"Get undressed."

Peter smiled outwardly, but inwardly he scowled. "I don't know that I like the way you're ordering-"

Stiles was not listening. He grabbed his own shirt by the hem and pulled it up over his head. Peter eyed the pale, succulent flesh, the lithe, athletic form of the teenage boy in front of him, and all coherent thought fell out of his head.

"Nevermind," Peter managed. He felt his mouth water as if he were a dog staring at a juicy bone. Actually, that was exactly what Peter was doing.

Stiles got up on his knees, next, and pulled his boxer-briefs down from where they were hugging his hips, pulling them all they way down to his knees. He exposed his creamy, yet boyishly hairy thighs, as well as the end of his happy trail.

Peter was astonished. He didn't move, just stared at the warm, willing body before him, his mind consumed by all of the thoughts of what he wanted to do to Stiles.

But Stiles again made it clear that he was in charge. Stiles was blushing, yes, and he was a bit nervous, as was evidenced by his jackrabbit heart and his trembling fingers, but he was still forward. He grabbed the waistband of Peter's boxers and yanked downwards. The roughness of the motion caused Peter to gasp, as the waistband grazed his erection, which was now sticking up in the air between them, prominent and ready. Stiles blushed even more and demurely looked away, as if he hadn't already seen it before... 

After they were entirely undressed, Stiles scrambled to be on top again, and the skin-to-skin contact was almost too much for Peter. Stiles was on his knees, while Peter was sitting down fully on the bed; Stiles was hovering just over Peter's erection, with his hands on Peter's shoulders, steadying himself.

Peter went to grab Stiles by the waist with his hands, but his hands were pushed away before they could even meet their target.

"No touching," Stiles said simply.

The thought clicked into Peter's mind. He got it now.

"Do you have any lube?" Stiles asked. Peter wanted to kiss him on the mouth.

Peter reached over to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a bottle of the aforementioned substance. He opened it, and was about to put some on his hand when Stiles grabbed it from him.

"No touching," Stiles reminded, still as plainly as ever.

Peter growled at him, the sound emitting deep from his chest. Stiles seemed startled, as he hurriedly drizzled the lube over his fingers, some of it dripping onto Peter's thighs. Once his fingers were good and slick, he reached behind himself suddenly inserted a single digit into himself, moaning as he did.

_"Oh,"_ Peter said, surprised. He had wanted to do that, but watching Stiles finger himself, his eyes closed, his mouth agape, his back arched, was definitely the better option.

Peter wanted to touch him, but he knew that wasn't allowed. Stiles seemed to sense this, and as he went to push a second finger into himself, he ground down onto Peter's lap, rubbing their penises together. He also finally kissed Peter, full on the mouth, and let the other man's tongue probe his own. As he stretched his fingers inside himself his hips bucked against Peter's abdomen.

Finally, when he was prepared, Stiles got up on his knees again, breaking their kiss. Peter looked mildly peeved at the loss of contact, but then Stiles daringly reached behind himself and grabbed Peter's dick, then guided it into himself. He slowly pushed down onto it, the fingers on his other hand digging into Peter's shoulders as he did, and he whimpered softly. Peter instinctively grabbed Stiles' hips, wanting to comfort him somehow, but Stiles shoved them off again as he lifted himself up, Peter's dick slowly sliding out of him, before he abruptly brought his ass back down, driving Peter's penis deeper into him. Peter moaned into Stiles' throat, his fingers curling indignantly at not being able to grab Stiles.

Stiles started picking up the pace, using Peter's shoulders as leverage to bring himself up and down on the man's dick. His movements were irregular at first, on his own, as he couldn't quite hit the same angle each time, but Peter started to thrust slightly upward as Stiles was driving down, and their gestures synchronized. As Peter came closer to climax, he couldn't resist grabbing Stiles' hips and thrusting rapidly into him. Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders and buried his face in the man's neck, his loud moans muffled as his spot was pounded over and over again.

Peter paused, to catch his breath, with his dick all the way inside Stiles, and right then the teen orgasmed. Peter felt the hot muscles gripping him from inside, and he came too.

Stiles got up on his knees again and let Peter slide out him. Then he sat back on Peter's thighs. He wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders, as he had been before, while he nestled his face into the crook of Peter's neck. They sat like that for a while, until they both collapsed onto the bed in a pile of twisted limbs. Stiles slid down Peter's body so he could rest his head on the man's chest, and intertwined the fingers on one of their hands together.

"Was that good for you?" Stiles asked. He looked up at Peter with inquisitive, doe-like eyes, which made Peter torn between kissing him and fucking him all over again.

"Do you even have to ask?" Peter replied. "I'm spent."

Stiles smiled. It was the first, genuine smile that Peter had seen from him, and all he could do was stare, dumbfounded, finding himself suddenly all too aware at how much he loved him.

Stiles must have seen the look of sheer bewilderment on Peter's face because the smile dimmed and he looked at Peter with amusement in his eyes.

"What are you thinking?"

Peter grinned wryly. And here Peter had thought that he could never love anyone. "It's nothing. Let's sleep." He kissed Stiles on the forehead and then pulled him closer, and that action was enough for Stiles to understand.

"I love you too," Stiles murmured, as he drifted off to sleep, and Peter's heart thumped loudly.


End file.
